


Those Who Live by the Sword

by AliNasweter



Category: Kingdom Come: Deliverance (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Annoying Hans, Caretaking, Gen, Henry is unconscious this whole time, Henry's Messengering Skills Suck, Kingdom Come: Deliverance Spoilers, Mentions of Henry's Parents, Mentions of Theresa's Brothers, Protective Theresa, Radzig Kobyla's Sword, Radzig exe stopped working, Suicidal Thoughts, That goes on Peshek's head, The Messenger is Theresa Here, Theresa POV, Woman's Lot DLC, Worried Radzig, Yes he manages even though he says like three sentences, profanities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:13:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25442953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliNasweter/pseuds/AliNasweter
Summary: Runt really didn't have time to think about the sword when running from Robard and his men back in Skalitz.Instead, Theresa now has the sword, along with a letter from Sir Divish and with half-dead Henry in the cart, travelling to Rattay. In this universe, Radzig will have to wait a bit more before scolding Henry.Spoilers for the whole game (even though this fic takes place at the beginning), also for DLC Woman's Lot.
Relationships: Theresa & Henry, Theresa & Peshek, Theresa & Radzig Kobyla
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Kdo mečem smrt nosí](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25422637) by [AliNasweter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliNasweter/pseuds/AliNasweter). 



She came to Rattay with a dog on her heels, a sword lying on the seat next to her, with a letter tangled in a cloth and half-dead man in the cart. Anxiety crept up on her as she passed through the main gate and continued down the city, everyone looking at her, some of them only once, indifferent, the rest of them more than once and with too much attention.

“Cabbage! Onions!” she heard as her gaze slid over a familiar face; that face was talking at her, saying something she didn’t understand, calling her, hope and pleasant surprise in the eyes. She turned her head and continued driving down the hill, carefully, then passed a bathhouse and a few people with buckets going to the river. She should be close now, she always remembered the mill was only a stone’s throw from the baths.

Just the sight of the white hat in the distance wanted to take all the weight of the world and lift it from her shoulders. But she didn’t let it, not completely. She stopped by the dovecote, her palms grazed and sore from clutching the reins too tight.

“Damn,” Peshek sighed as he offered his hands for support, though he knew very well that she didn’t need them to get off the cart. She looked at his hands, then at her uncle, and suddenly tears welled up in her eyes. She jumped down, her knees buckled and almost gave up on her. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, her uncle clumsily pulled her into his arms and her throat tightened, Henry was dying, Mutt was sniffing around the mill and the bodies of her brothers were rotting somewhere in Skalitz...

The first sob is always the hardest. Only after a few minutes of a miserable excuse for crying, which brought her more of a headache than relief, she pushed herself out of the embrace.

“He needs an apothecary,” she said, her voice painfully hoarse. Peshek walked over to look into the cart and asses its load with a critical eye.

“How about a priest?” he suggested callously, his eyes cold and hard.

“He saved my life,” she replied. Peshek didn’t answer right away, he took the limp, battered body of her friend without too much effort, slung it over his shoulder as if it were just a sack of flour. It might as well be. A hysterical laugh threatened to push its way up her throat as she remembered her recent words – was it only yesterday? – that she would rather marry a sack of flour than Zbyshek.

When Henry was in bed and she bandaged his worst wounds, a moment of truth came.

“He won’t get out of this on his own, lass,” Peshek called from the doorway where he was washing his hands in a bathtub. “He is a tough bastard, I’ll give him that, as he’s still alive. But he won’t get through this without help, that goes without saying.”

“We’ll both be indebted to you,” she said, standing in the doorway, watching him. Peshek all but bristled at that. His pale blue eyes pierced her to the core. In the years since she had last seen him, he had grown old. He was left alone and never quite came to terms with it. “Do you think I want to indebt my own niece?” he snapped, voice sour but somehow accepting as if he couldn’t really blame her for thinking so lowly of him. “He’s a stranger to me. He may not survive. The apothecary is a damn expensive business. I’m not saying it can’t be paid for. I just don’t see why I should and why you would even want to. Is he yours?”

That stunned her into silence. Then, “He’s my friend.” She squeezed her old apron with her fingers, still painfully sore from the reins. She should wash the apron. Sew it up. Or burn straight away. No need for trying to wash her brother’s blood from it. She wouldn’t be able to not see it anyway. “Three soldiers pinned me to the door, pa’s helper sacrificed me as an animal and Hal lunged at them even though he is worse with a sword than I am.” She raised her head and finally looked into her uncle’s eyes once more. This time, there was regret. If it was for her or his words, she had no idea. She didn’t care for either of them. “I want him to survive. And I am going to do everything in my power to ensure that he does. Even if I have to pay for all of it in the end. Even if he doesn’t make it after all.”

The last link to her old world would die with him. She went back inside to change the cloth on Henry’s forehead, too warm after only a few seconds. Henry slept restlessly, it was more tossing around in delirium than truly sleeping. The sun was still shining, the birds were still singing. The tanner’s children could be heard screaming in delight. The world was okay here. She could be just visiting. Her hands were trembling and she was still on the verge of tears. They couldn’t fall, they didn’t want to, as if saving themselves for a better opportunity.

“What about that sword in the cart?” Peshek took mercy on her. He followed her into the room, looking for a piece of cloth he could wipe his hands with. “That could be fenced alright,” he added, impressed. “And that piece of rag, I’ll burn that. It’s so bloody, that can’t be saved, really.” She didn’t even turn around, just shrugged at his words. Henry was one big bruise. She had seen what weapon the giant used to beat him and... even if he survived, his head might...

It could take a few minutes, hours, or days. But the sun was still shining and the tanner's children were still laughing. Peshek came back again.

“No kidding, lass, where the hell did you get that? That’s a damn fine job. And to be honest, it’s so fine that I would be afraid to fence it. Did you find it in Skalitz or somewhere on the way? Or did someone give it to you?”

That brought her back.

“Oh god, no!” she blurted, Peshek jumped and turned sharply on his heels. “Don’t even touch it! That’s... ah, I completely...” she had simply picked it up and put in the cart, not thinking twice why Henry clutched it so tightly even so deeply unconscious. “It was a contract. Henry here was working on it with his pa. It was meant for Sir Radzig, they said. I might as well take it to him as I am going there anyway with the...” her breath caught in her throat. This was getting better and better. “I guess that rag you wanted to burn is...”

“What, that belongs to him, too?” Peshek chuckled, carefree, waving his head dismissively. “Only ashes now!”

And with the rag, the letter from Sir Divish as well. Tears welled up in her eyes once more, still not falling. She didn’t want to go anywhere, to speak to anyone, to explain anything. She made her peace with delivering the message and going on her way but... this was so much worse. But she promised.

“I need to find sir Radzig. I saw some people from Skalitz on the streets, is he here with them or did he go somewhere else?” At least she would have an excuse. _I did all I could, Sir Divish, but Sir Radzig went to Prague and what is a girl like me supposed to do about that... that I could give that letter to someone else? They didn’t even let me step into the castle, taking me for a beggar..._

“Yeah, he’s here somewhere. Unfortunately, they are friends with Hanush. Good enough for our regent lord to have the whole damn city infested and lent him one castle for use. Pirsktein. So-called lower castle, just when you go through the main city gate and turn right... but wrap that thing into something so they don’t think you went crazy and run at them with a sword, okay? I’ll find some empty sack you could use.”

He could’ve offered to arrange it all on her behalf. She frowned at his back, squeezing Henry’s limp hand, the last thread that bound her to the past and yet, kept her present.

***

“Keep an eye on him in the meantime, will you? I’ll stop for some bread... if I find the baker, that is. I’ll visit the apothecary, too,” she explained, wrapping the cloth around the sword. “To ask him to come and see first and then... decide if it’s... worth it.” She lived with Peshek for a few hours and he was already rubbing off on her. A dangerous man, he was. Her uncle only snorted and pierced the helpless figure on the bed with his eyes, daring him to actually start healing and need the care.

“What about that mutt?” he shouted from the window when she was almost out of earshot. She pretended to be already out of earshot and continued walking. The guards at the gate only glanced at her. The weather was hot and the shift long. Some of the faces behind the gate seemed more than vaguely familiar. But she kept her distance, avoiding all those who could recognize her and start asking questions. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She didn’t want to explain what had happened, how had she survived, how had she gotten out of Skalitz, she didn’t want to tell them that, unlike them, she had a roof over her head now.

The yard was buzzing with activity. The maids were hurrying up the stairs with their arms full of bowls and baskets, the stableboy crawling on all fours, obviously looking for something so small that it was impossible to look for it with dignity, and there were two familiar soldiers in Skalitz waffenrocks standing by the wooden steps, arguing.

“It’s driving me mad! We could easily wait for those few seconds it cost him.”

“It was his own fault. I told him it was suicide. What am I now supposed to do with this?” Janek waved with a small bag just under his friend’s nose. “Whenever I see it, I feel sick and I want to go and find a hole to bury myself in, seriously. Don’t you _dare_ blame _me_.”

“I don’t! It was the captain’s order, most of the people who still had a chance were already inside. Of course, I don’t blame you. It’s just... it’s bugging me.” Jaroslav. She remembered those two very well. Rather nice, polite if they wanted to be, Hal’s friends. Joined at the hip, you never saw one without the other. They were like... hardworking Matthew and Fritz, in her eyes. And where _those_ two ended up?

“That’s right. But the captain got an earful for that,” Janek grumbled under his breath and tossed the little bag back on the stairs. It rattled. “Did you hear our lord speaking to him after he ordered to close the gates? Like, I thought he would eat our good old captain alive. I swear to God I was more afraid of Sir Radzig than Sigismund’s army at that moment.”

“Maybe when it all calms down a bit, we will go back to Skalitz. The money won’t go to waste. We can have a cross built for them if we both add something,” Jaroslav suggested.

“Yeah, that – Theresa?” Janek blurted when she finally reached them. The sword in her hand seemed to get even heavier. “What do you... I... God, I’m glad to see that you’re...” he stammered. Both of them always tended to get rather nervous in her presence, out of fear of her father and respect for Stibor. Her brother once took them both at once in a fight because they were having some stupid remarks about miller’s trade or... she didn’t even know anymore. It didn’t matter. And they were probably right back then.

“Is Sir Radzig here?” she asked. There was no point in beating around the bush, she just wanted this nonsense to be over with. If only she knew what was in the letter. She had no idea what Sir Divish considered so important that he had felt the need to send a note for her lord. Maybe he wanted to inform him about Sigismund’s “visit”, or that he had been looking for him at Talmberg? Robard had mentioned something about it; that they all were saying goodbyes to their lives at that time when the army stood there on the hill, that Sigismund decided to spare them in the end.

“Of course. He’s upstairs with Sir Hanush... in the main hall... but...” Janek still couldn’t pull himself together. Jaroslav sighed.

“The better question is – what’s that to you?”

“I have a letter for him from Sir Divish of Talmberg,” she replied solemnly.

“I don’t see any,” Jaroslav didn’t believe her.

"It's not in the place I normally show for the whole world to see," she said dryly, raising her eyebrows at him. It worked.

“I’d like to be there when you pull it out then,” he couldn’t help but add, “but go on,” and with an exaggerated bow, he cleared the way for her. Finally upstairs, just in the doorway leading to the hallway, she collided with a young cook’s helper.

“ _Kurva_ ,” the boy hissed, stuffing a wine pitcher into her palm. “Too busy for that shit! Take it to the kitchen!” and he staggered out of the hallway. “It’s for red wine, so don’t pour white there!” he shouted before running down the stairs.

There was nowhere to put the pitcher so she just continued to the main hall with it. The guard at the entrance opened the door gallantly for her and she entered as surely as if the whole castle belonged to her. Only after a few more steps did she stop in her tracks, suddenly lost. The second guard noticed her as well and, unlike his chivalrous colleague, he was focusing on the right hand.

“Stop right there! What’s in that bag!” he shouted, then snatched the pitcher from her hand. “And why did you bring an empty jug? Speak!”

“A sword,” she replied calmly. The soldier’s eyes widened as the single word found its way into his brain, he dodged an imagery blow and drew his weapon.

“Wait!” Sir Radzig finally interjected, jumping out of his chair at the soldier’s quick movement. “I know the girl. She must have come to see me,” he added, yet couldn’t help but add a small question at the end, unsure about the girl’s intentions. “I doubt she would come here to finish Sigismund’s work,” he smiled with as much joy as Theresa felt – none at all. Finally, she could look into the eyes of someone who just _understood_.

“My lord,” she bowed rather awkwardly, remembering Bianca’s curtsies when Henry had invited her to dance and she had been jokingly playing hard to get before agreeing. “I am the daughter of the Skalitz miller, the niece of Rattay miller. I come... on behalf... of Sir Divish of Talmberg.”

“What, Divish now employs girls?” the nobleman beside Radzig chuckled, a mountain of a man, with a dark beard and smiling eyes. “That doesn’t sound like him. But I’m happy for the change. I’d always rather look at a woman than at Robard,” he laughed at his own words and drank from his cup.

Only now did she notice that Radzig wasn’t taking his eyes off her, not even blinking. There was a small wrinkle on his forehead that hadn’t been there a few seconds ago. He was tense and unmoving, waiting for more, and Theresa felt dread creeping up her neck. So it _was_ an important letter. _Sakra._

“He wrote you a letter, my lord, but unfortunately, I lost it by accident. It was hidden in a rag that got tangled in things for burning. I came here to give you an explanation so that I won’t be suspected... of fraud.”

“Suspected of fraud!” shouted someone in the back, a very annoying and young voice, and Theresa’s eye twitched only at the tone. “She comes here like a queen, waving a sword around, not showing a single bit of respect only to say that she burned an important letter!”

And she _really_ needed this jerk to remind her. She looked at Radzig again. He still wasn’t moving. Only after a few long seconds under her scrutinous gaze did he wake up from his trance, so he only nodded at her, accepting her explanation.

“No need to get angry about that, lord Capon,” he said, distracted, barely looking at the young nobleman. “That could happen to anyone. I guess that the... sword, you said, is another part of your message?”

“Yes,” she quickly agreed and gratefully pushed the sword wrapped in the flour sack into his hand. Her whole arm was tingling. Radzig lifted the sword effortlessly, unpacked it, and let the sack fall to the ground. A small cloud of flour rose from the ground and just as Theresa wanted to bend down and take the sack and finally leave, something stopped her. Radzig’s sharp intake of breath, his hand squeezing the sword so hard his knuckles cracked at that movement.

“That’s very nice work,” said the huge man behind him, who, at this point, wasn’t even trying to hide his curiosity. “It would be a shame to lose such a thing,” he added as if trying to divert their attention, as if he were going somewhere with his words.

“Well, it’s not part of the message _like that_ – at least not quite, I mean... Sir Divish didn’t talk about the sword at all, I brought it to you because I found it and I remembered seeing it just before the attack. The blacksmith told me about it when we were waiting for Hal coming back with the nails...” she choked. “I’m sorry, sir, I have no idea what was in the letter. But I don’t think the sword has much to do with it.”

“Maybe it has,” Radzig replied softly, so quietly that he couldn’t even know he spoke out loud. “That... that boy you mentioned...” he paused, not in a meaningful silence but a sincere search for words, and she had no idea what he wanted to hear. She had been here for much longer than she had expected.

“He originally had the sword,” she said. They all hung on her lips as if she were describing the treasure path. She wanted to run out of the castle. Through the window. “We were both in Skalitz... Henry was attacked by a group of bandits... captain Robard arrived with his soldiers, they attacked the bandits and... the sword was laying there and I remembered where had I seen it before. I thought you would be glad, my lord. That at least something...” too much, quiet, _quiet!_ When did it become so stifling here?

Her heart almost dropped to her stomach when she looked up again only to see the whole room unmoving, silent, watching her. She glanced nervously at all of them, even those she had ignored until now. Was it that bad? This was supposed to be a gesture of goodwill, nothing bad or offensive, was it? Going like this, she will get to the baker’s after dark and _then_ she can forget about some good bread. The priest in the right corner frowned at her, the young man in the other corner of the room glared, still visibly offended, the man in armor meanwhile slowly rising from his chair.

“I could go to Talmberg, my lord, if-...” he began but didn’t finish. His lord paid him no attention, staring at Radzig’s back, pain and worry and regret in his eyes. And sir Radzig was still watching the sword in his hands, barely breathing, as pale as the wall behind him, is if it were truly the last thing he had left in the world. She didn’t come here to remind him what he had lost... just...

“I am so sorry about the letter,” she tried once more. Radzig finally looked at her again.

“No. It’s alright. This actually... speaks... for itself,” he faltered at that and Theresa really didn’t feel good about that. “I think I know what was in that letter. I appreciate your effort, lass, and your sincerity. Here’s something for your trouble...”

Theresa backed away.

“You are too kind. But knowing that I am forgiven is enough for me.” Radzig withdrew his hand, though somewhat reluctantly. Peshek would smack her upside the head for that. For some reason, that improved her mood a bit. She mustn’t forget to mention it just by the way and then watch in innocent confusion how he pulls his hair in frustration. Did he still have any hair left? She hadn’t seen him without the hat ever since she was a little girl.

Of course, the thought about some little financial help being needed for Henry’s health was somewhere in the back of her mind, but at the same time, she couldn’t help but want to show the noblemen that even a miller could do something out of goodness of their heart, that not every one of them...

She bowed again, hurriedly, and without thinking too much about the inappropriateness of leaving the lords’ presence without their permission, she slipped out into the hallway. Walking fast toward the stairway, she could still hear some muffled outraged comments, again that incredibly annoying young voice. And then the strong and resonant one – “ _you_ are one to talk about good manners!”

No one tried to stop her though, and she hurried to the square unnoticed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peshek gets a near heart attack (and conveniently hidden from view), Radzig sees that there is no sense in trying to fool Theresa, Henry has canonically weird priorities, and Theresa, the only sane person in sight, can finally smile again.

“And the sword? Dad’s sword,” he breathed, his eyes darting around the room, frantically searching for the only thing he clung to so tightly that the memory alone kept him alive. Theresa often regretted that she had taken the sword directly to the castle, that she hadn’t shown it to Henry before doing it so that the idiot would calm down and stop writhing, hurting himself in the process. If he wasn’t asking her about Skalitz or his parents, he demanded a hearing with Sir Radzig Kobyla, to whom he desperately needed to explain that the sword had been _taken_ from him, that he would deliver it at all costs. Because he had promised. One day he asked her what had happened to Theresa.

“What?” she’d murmured distractedly, turning around to face him. She had been by the tub, getting the cloth cold and wet again and she had thought she overheard. Henry had repeated his question, expressing his concern for her fate as if she were not there at all, looking at him, touching him, fighting death to keep him here for a little longer. With tears in her eyes, she’d told him that Theresa was alright. Alive and well. He had fallen unconscious again, almost contentedly.

“Dad’s sword,” he blurted once more, snapping out of the blissful nothingness, the faint morning light illuminating the room. She flinched herself awake on the other bed, at full attention, her panicked gaze falling on one pair of very hurt, very glassy eyes.

“I swear to Holy Mother of Jesus, if you ask me _one more time_ , I’ll strangle you myself. Uncle will have to pass this one.” For two weeks she had been doing nothing but fighting her tears. She was exhausted to death, her head ached terribly, pins and needles in her back. Which was only fair, considering her sleeping position, half-leaning against a wall or a chair, always ready to snap to attention whenever Henry woke up and began tossing around. Once he had hit the bedside table so hard he broke his finger. From then on, she watched him more closely and that soon began to take its toll on her.

“I just don’t want him to think I stole it,” he sobbed. He managed to break her heart and annoy her at the same time. And her fears were slowly coming true. His condition barely improved, his consciousness seemed to be... moving _elsewhere_ , as if he were on a verge of death and life, lingering on the line, balancing, seeing things beyond her reach. In a small way, he reminded her of Samuel. Her little brother also used to have something with his head, and one could live with that alright, but...

“Sir Radzig already has that sword. I brought it to him. Do you hear me, Hal? Do you _understand_ me?”

“I promised my dad,” he whispered before sinking back into the depths of unconsciousness. The fever wouldn’t break and she was so, so tired. The debt at the apothecary’s was growing and her uncle understandably wasn't thrilled. She knew how reluctant he was to pay, but as long as she played on the same heartstrings he denied to have, he wouldn’t let Henry die. Not when it was for her. And as long as she was here, Henry had a chance to survive. She had to stay. Now it wasn’t only her life on her shoulders, now she had some responsibility she thought she had left back in Skalitz, with her shaking hands and the cooling blood of her little brother on her apron, with all the tears and cries of despair. She kept it in her mind, at the front of it, every day and every minute.

The sun continued to rise and then set again, while she cared for someone who clung to his life with a touching determination that made her want to burst into tears. Henry fought for the smallest reasons, fewer than she had. All he had left was that stupid sword. And now not even that anymore.

She ran her index finger across the small scar on his hand, the memory of their training with wooden swords so fresh and yet so distant.

“Ah fuck.”

She raised her head and scowled.

“Really,” she tutted at Peshek - because seriously, he didn’t _have to_ use those words so often. At times she caught her own softly muttered _sakra_ turning into harshly snarled _kurva_ , and she had been bravely avoiding it all her life, even though she had lived in a mill without a single woman within reach or sight. But it had been easier with her brothers’ hushed curses than now with her uncle, who had lived on his own for so long that he simply didn’t realize there were now people around who would care enough to scowl at him.

Her uncle wasn’t listening to her. Instead, he pressed his face to the window, cursing like a pagan.

“Oh god. Fucking hell. _Kurvadrát_. Ohh no. Such a successful swindle career, only to be hanged for a fucking rag? It really belonged to him? You didn’t give him the sword? You did, didn’t you? Why in the hell would he come here otherwise? Fuck! Was that rag _important_? It was all bloody and dirty, made me sick just looking at it, good only for burning, don’t even try to tell me that it was _really_ something important, like – like a blanket that belonged to Jesus fucking Christ himself. That would be just like me, getting shit from the law because of a fucking _nonsense_!”

In the meantime, Theresa got up and walked over to him. Peeking over his shoulder, she tried to identify the cause of her uncle’s meltdown.

“Ah?” she breathed.

“Ah?!” Peshek turned to her. “ _Ah_? Ah what? Ah Radzig, that’s what! Did you... damn it, woman, did you tell him that I burned that rag?” He grabbed his head. “I’m a fucking miller, he can come up with anything! Treason! Maybe I was the one who sent Sigismund at you, what the fuck do I know? Where are his men? I can’t see a bloody thing that far.”

Gently but firmly, she pushed him away from the window.

“Calm down. I’m going to talk to him. He doesn’t even know you.”

“You left your mind in Skalitz – and your fear, too! Don’t tell him anything!” he whispered urgently at her as she walked to the door. “I’m going to go to the shack behind the mill to hide the hot goods. You hold him back, and deny everything! That sword, too!”

“I personally gave it to him-...”

“Not if you _deny_ it!”

“Oh please,” she scoffed, dismissing him with a flick of her hand, then smoothed her clothes and went into battle. Her opponent, as it turned out, had not come with a fight in mind. As soon as he noticed her, he stopped in his tracks. Mutt trotted excitedly to the visitor and began to sniff him curiously. He had no objections to his presence.

“My lord,” Theresa said, asking, acknowledging, both at once and none of it. Radzig visibly faltered. “I’m Theresa,” she added dryly, not bothering to wonder where it came from. The man in front of her bowed slightly and her eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

“I sent a small group of my men to Skalitz a few days ago. We were looking for possible survivors. And we wanted to bury the bodies. I... couldn’t help but notice that some people were nowhere to be seen, even though they... died, to my knowledge. I was wondering if you knew something about that.”

She began trembling. Yes, she had arranged for Martin and Anne to be buried. But she hadn’t gotten to her own family. She could have asked Captain Robard... but Samuel stayed in the mines and she didn’t want to... she had refused to go to the mill. She didn’t know if there was anything left of it, but she hadn’t wanted to go and see for herself. She hadn’t wanted to see pa or Stibor. She would have wanted to stay right there, just lie down into the dirt and wait until it all ends.

“Yes,” she replied, feeling the colour draining from her face. Suddenly, she couldn’t swallow, her throat working uselessly. “I found Henry with his parents.” Why did he always react so strangely to her words? Maybe he blamed himself? She knew that Martin had been his friend, of course he would feel terrible. But he had lost so much more and could calmly discuss it with other nobles over dinner, yet whenever he heard any news about Henry or his parents, he looked as if he was going to be sick. “I assumed he was there to bury them. And I found a grave under the linden tree by their house, so...” she finally managed to swallow the lump in her throat.

"I see," he replied, his voice even weaker than hers. "Thank you very much." He hesitated, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. She wondered for a moment if she should ask him… but never mind. It was stupid. She was just desperate. "Everyone in the village was taken care of if you…"

"Thank you," she said quickly, repaying his favour. He saved her from heavy words, she saved him. "And the mines, my lord?" He frowned, then shook his head. Her heart was pounding. "My brother. We hid there," she added.

"I'll send someone there, too," he promised. Silence fell over them. Then: "Actually, I came to apologize, Theresa. You’ve suffered a lot in Skalitz... as one of the first at that, behind the palisade. Still, you went through the trouble of getting to me and telling me what happened with something as insignificant as a sword. I’m sorry that young Lord Capon had no understanding. And even though you didn’t seem to take his words to heart, I wondered if he hadn’t gotten to you when you were in such a hurry all of a sudden. Talmberg is not far off, if the message was too important to be lost on the way, I would have received it in a different form.”

She snorted before she could think better of it.

“I was in a hurry because I needed some bread,” she allowed herself a smile, because – pfff, that _brat_ really had no chance to get on her nerves! “I wanted to stop by the apothecary, too. I didn’t know where he lived by that time so I wanted to be quick and find him during daylight.”

“So you _were_ hurt after all?” he asked, examining her closely. What did it matter?

“Not me, sir, no. Hal was. The blacksmith’s son, as I said. We were both in Skalitz. The bandits didn’t manage to get to me, Sir Robard came just in time.”

Radzig flinched hard, as if the sword had burned him, as if she had slapped him, as if someone had thrown a dagger at him and he got his heart pierced through. He had been watching Mutt until now, occasionally looking up at her – perhaps out of politeness – but more than not, he kept his gaze averted, looking over the mill, over the yard. Suddenly his eyes were on her, not moving, not even blinking.

“He’s alive?” he blurted, his voice rough and soft at the same time. She shrugged.

“He’s fighting tooth and nails,” she admitted, but her expression had to speak for itself. “It’s not looking good, my lord. We’re doing all we can, but it doesn’t look... promising.”

"All this time, since the day you came and gave me the sword, he’s been here? Alive?” he asked in disbelief as if it weren't clear enough.

“Yes,” she replied quietly, thoughtfully, because this was, to say the least, a rather... inadequate response. Was any of it wrong? She had no idea why Sir Divish would even send soldiers to find Hal, because – there was no need to sugarcoat – he was a village boy, a son of a blacksmith, albeit one who had been well-known and skilled. Why would any noble care for an ordinary... “Forgive me, sir,” she started, her tone lacking any signs of apology, “but why do you care so much? He didn’t _take_ the sword. He tried to deliver it, but he was attacked.”

She broadened her stance in the doorway and Mutt whimpered softly. Did the blacksmith’s family have something important Radzig would be looking for all along? Was that why he had asked about their grave, why had he reacted so strangely to every mention of Henry or the sword? Was it truly as insignificant as he’d said? She put her hands on her hips. Radzig, who had been watching her closely all this time, would have to be blind to not see what had just happened. He bowed his head, rubbed his chin, then took a few small steps back. Which was another gesture she found weird, yet strangely familiar.

_Henry deflected her lunge and she had to turn around, and suddenly – a wooden sword fell lightly on her backside and she gasped dramatically. “Henry, really!” Three small steps back, hesitant, careful, he rubbed his chin with his left hand, bowed his head, frowning as if in deep thought. Perhaps he expected her to scold him or slap him, as she should, but..._

“I am not suspecting him of anything. I do have a... personal interest in his survival. I knew his father,” her lord was standing in the middle of the yard, defending himself as if he had anything to defend himself from in the first place. In front of _her_ , a girl from a mill. Who was standing in the doorway, perhaps thinking she could stop him, no matter what he decided to do.

“You knew my father, too, sir,” she snapped. He didn’t look as scary from up close. Not when she had already seen him as white as a sheet, not when she had witnessed his eyes welling up, hands shaking, voice breaking. He was just like her, just like everybody else. He looked like her pa when he had heard that a rock fell on Samuel in the mines. “And everybody else’s.”

Silence.

“You are right about that. But Henry’s parents have been my friends for many years,” he said quietly. “You could say I set myself a task of sorts... to make sure at least their son survived the attack. And I thought of the worst, so I’m very happy that he’s still among the living. Thank you for your kindness,” he continued, seemingly effortlessly, smoothly, and she wanted to go and find a place she could bury herself alive. He bowed a little, rested his palm on the hilt of the sword once more, and turned to leave.

He looked miserable and she felt like a monster. Why wasn’t he acting like a lord, why didn’t he raise his voice at her, demand... she allowed herself exactly that kind of behaviour that would’ve sent her father into a fainting fit, and yet there was not a single drop of fear in her. What could a lord do to her, how could he punish her? There was nothing he could’ve come up with that would hurt her even more.

Suddenly, she could see them. Anne and him, still young and hopeful, without fear of consequences. Shy smiles and light kisses and gentle touches.

It cost him six steps before she gave up and cleared her throat.

“Did you want to see him, my lord?” she asked, letting her arms drop to her sides. Radzig didn’t stop as casually as he probably would have liked. His shoulders were stiff and for a few seconds, he wasn’t moving at all. Then he turned around, his face completely blank. Theresa almost smiled at that. Unreadable masks were always the most transparent, always clearly showing there was something to hide.

“If it isn’t too much trouble,” he replied politely.

As she expected and hoped, uncle wasn’t inside. He was probably running around in the shack behind the house, trying to hide the “hot goods”. As if someone could tell at a glance that those things were stolen.

Radzig entered the room without a single sound. His gaze fell on the bed opposite the door. Suddenly, Theresa felt a bit lost.

“He will make it,” she murmured, trying for a more hopeful tone than before, and turning herself to the pot over the hearth to show that she had no intentions of paying closer attention to anything else for a moment. She stirred the porridge and more felt than heard Sir Radzig approaching the bed, sitting on it very carefully. She stared hard into the pot. “He is strong, my lord. He’s had worse, too. He almost drowned once – that was my fault, honestly, I didn’t realize the depth either. And then he got ill, and we all thought he was going to die,” she talked, not knowing why or what. She didn’t want to turn around, really, but she couldn’t help it.

His hand trembled a little as he raised it, taking Henry’s palm, hot and dry and cracked, and then squeezed it lightly. She would almost call the gesture encouraging, though she had no idea for whom it was intended as such. Her throat tightened at the sight.

“Can I help?” he asked quietly. She heard what he was trying to say. So she stopped pretending that she wasn’t watching them and turned around to face him.

“My uncle is not poor, my lord. Paying for Henry’s care is a favour for me, and as long as he takes it as such, he will do it. Don’t let him see that he is doing a favour for you. He would never let you forget it,” she said, and it wasn’t nice, but it was true. Ever since his wife had died and his only daughter had run away, Peshek didn’t care too much for morale anymore. His bitterness made him a person who shouldn’t have power over anyone. “His help depends on me. You will have to trust me that I have only Hal’s best interests at heart. I owe him my life.”

“I see he’s in good hands,” Radzig noted, smiling at her. He didn’t let go of Henry’s hand.

“I see he’s always been,” she replied. He said nothing to that. Instead, he ran his thumb gently over the knuckles on Henry’s limp hand, not bothering to look for excuses anymore. She suddenly felt proud, as if she achieved something great, as if she cracked the toughest nut. “Sir Konyash and I are doing our best. The rest is up to God and Hal,” she continued softly, carefully, not missing the way her lord stiffened at the words. He _needed_ to help and she kept refusing. Suddenly, that silly idea she had been ashamed of came back to her. “Sometimes I feel as if the only thing keeping him alive is that sword. He... somehow can’t detach himself from it, always asking about it. He doesn’t react to anything else, he keeps talking about it even when delirious. He’s afraid you’ll be angry with him, sir,” she admitted, knowing it wouldn’t ease Radzig’s worries, but feeling lighter somehow, saying all these words aloud, not just exchanging knowing glances with Konyash, not watching her uncle’s furrowed brow, his pale eyes silently judging their care as if he kept asking himself – _how the hell is he still alive?_ Radzig listened to her patiently, not looking at her.

“Well, he is right about that. I am angry with him,” he finally said, harsh words coated in a soft voice, and Theresa bristled. Another wave of anger swept over her as fiercely as she had fought it down just a moment ago. Her nose wrinkled, her hands shot up to her hips again.

“He couldn’t have _known_ -“ she began, but one look at Radzig silenced her.

“He could. I met him as we passed Talmberg that night after the attack. He wouldn’t join us because he wanted to bury his parents first. And I _ordered_ him to _not_ go back. I asked Sir Divish to keep an eye on him.”

She exhaled and let her hands drop once again. There she had the content of the letter, probably. She looked up in surprise when Radzig rose from the bed and drew his sword. It was a slow and careful movement, not a sharp one, but she flinched nonetheless, then backed away a step or two. He feigned ignorance and she stood her ground.

“I’ll leave the sword here,” he said. “If it’s something that’s literally keeping him alive, I’m sure I won’t make matters worse if I leave it here where he can see it. When he recovers, let him deliver the sword to me. He has no reason to come looking for me without it, after all. And I’d like to give him an earful when he’s standing on his own feet.”

She ran her finger over her lips to keep from laughing. Silently and without thinking too much, she made a curtsy, one far less awkward than all her previous attempts. Radzig returned her smile, bowed his head a bit, a small wordless thanks. He didn’t have to say anything else, yet she felt as if she heard it all. Peshek came back breathless and with hay straws stuck in his beard. For the first time in almost two weeks, she felt something almost forgotten bubbling in her, the laughter of delight and hope and relief.

“You see,” she said when Henry woke up at night and asked about the sword. “It’s right here, waiting for you to deliver it.”

The next morning, the fever began to subside.


End file.
